What Results from Tripping Over the Stairs
by howlsatthemoon
Summary: "What are you doing? Trying to take advantage of a cripple? You're a sick man!" / In which Rose trips and Scorpius is a typical teenage boy.


_Disclaimer: I think you guys ought to know by now._

A Few Useless Facts: Okay, so I've been researching the second generation—if you're not sure of all the new kids' names, search up 'Weasley Family Tree' on Google—and some of the kids' birth_years_are provided and some aren't, so I've been doing a lot of iffy guessing here. If you get confused about how old these kids are, then this is for you, because it took even me a while to try to sort it out. First of all, Rosie, Scorpius, Albus, Molly (II), and Fred (II) are in their fifth year. Lily (II), Albus (II), Lucy, Roxanne, and Hugo are in their third year. James (II) is in his sixth year. Lorcan and Lysander are in their seventh year. I'm a very lazy person so I'm just going to pretend that Fleur got all 'I love my French homeland' and decided to send Dominique and Louis to Beauxbatons and get them home for the holidays; Victoire, however, got to finish Hogwarts before Fleur made this decision. Got it? Hope so.

-;-

_what results from tripping over the stairs_

He's a bit of a jerk, really.

Okay. That was an understatement. Scorpius Malfoy is the biggest _arse _in all of Hogwarts. Hell, he's an even bigger twit than that ridiculous exchange student from Durmstrang Institute we had, Johan Krum, who decides that just because _his_ Dad fancied _my _Mum back in the ancient times, he and I belong together. What kind of _idiot _assumes that? Well, at least Hugo and James had a bit of practice at their hexing with him. Anyway, back to the originally intended topic. Scorpius Malfoy, as I've finally realized in a brilliant epiphany that came to me at breakfast in the Great Hall this morning, (I was so surprised that I accidentally made Molly spill her Pumpkin Juice all over Lysander Scamander, her current male obsession of the week) needs to die. And not just any normal death. A _painful _death. _Excruciatingly _so. A death that goes on for hours on end, with him moaning and screaming at the absurdness of it all! I can hear him now: "Oh, Rose, please, just kill me now! Avada Kedavra me, please, I beg of you! You're an absolutely wonderful witch and your powers are so much superior to mine! Kill me, oh, please!"

Why, you may ask? Well, it's a long story really. What's that? You've got time? Oh. Well then. (You know, that quite annoys me, for everyone knows when you say, "It''s a long story, really" that it means, "I don't want to tell you, you ninny!") It all started back in the Ravenclaw Common Room.

"Go out with me," is my good-morning greeting from not-so-dear Scorp. It's not even a question. It's a _command. _My Auntie Ginny tells me it's romantic—she says that's how Uncle Harry's parents initially fell in love. I, for one, think it's one of the most _annoying, infuriating, STUPID_ things to do to a poor innocent girl. Constantly humiliating her, always begging for a date you'll never get, always making me out to be the bad guy because I 'never give poor Scorpius a break'. It's unfair! It's inhumane! What kind of man would conduct the same action fifty million times a _day—not _exaggerating here!—and expect a different result? It's ridiculous! Which is why I simply respond to stupid Malfoy with one of my best death stares—I've actually gotten quite good at it—and flounce out the portrait hole, where I find Molly, Roxanne, and Lily are waiting for me.

Lily, with her red hair that's just a bit of a shade brighter than mine, like a sparkling fire, steps up and links our elbows. "Rose!" she squeals. She's only thirteen but she's already a bombshell—she's got a different date every Saturday, and every time I catch her in the halls she's snogging a different boy. Gives her father, Albus, James, and, for some odd reason, Teddy, heart failure. You just got to love Lils. "What took you so long?" She flips her long, wavy hair over her thin shoulder. "C'mon. Lucy is waiting for us in the Great Hall." She tightens her loop and we speed away, all of our robes billowing behind us.

"Why so quiet, Ro?" Molly speaks up. She's got mousy brown hair, inherited from her mother, but her eyes are the most innocent brown that they could make you melt. Yeah. Don't believe it. She's about as pure as rat poison. I guess she interpreted my face quite well because she then says, "Oh, I get it. I bet Scorpius is 'bothering' you again, huh?"

"_Don't _say his name if you don't want me to drench you in vomit," I say through clenched teeth. Molly shuts it.

Roxanne sighs, switching from our cousin's side to mine. "Don't mind her, Rose. Oh, and come to think of it, d'you think you could help me out with my Potions essay tonight, in the common room? I don't think I'm getting the concept of a bezoar quite right."

"O'course, Rox, I'll meet you at—Merlin!" I cry, slapping my palm to my forehead, "I've forgotten _my_ Potions essay. Slug wants it today and I've got class right after breakfast." I groan, eyeing the long staircase back up to the Ravenclaw common room. "You guys... You go on ahead. I—I'll just catch up with you girls later."

Lily rolls her eyes and cocks her head. "Fine, Rose," she grumbles with a pout, "You hurry though! Or else—I'll eat _all_ the poppy seed muffins!"

"Don't you dare!" I call back playfully, looking over my shoulder to watch my cousins head towards the large doors that signal the entrance to the hall. I figure I was definitely not paying much attention because—BAM!—I slam into a hard, muscley body. Strong hands circle my waist to catch me before I hit the concrete floors. I can already feel the tips of my ears turning beet red as I surrender myself to the arms keeping me from a sure concussion. "Thanks," I mumble, embarrassed, as I tilt my head up to face my hero and give him a proper thank you... "Oh. It's _you_."

Scorpius' light gray eyes twinkle, amused. A smirk twists its way up the side of his pale face, almost making its way up to his messy dirty blond hair. "Now, that's not the way a girl's supposed to greet the love of her life, Rosie, now, is it?"

First of all, I _hate_ when people call me Rosie. It was fine when I was a toddler. Acceptable as I turned about seven, eight. Tolerable as I entered my first year. But after third year? No. Rosie's no name for a teenage girl! It makes me sound like some kind of virginal, forever-six-years-old saint! No! I'm not six, I'm fifteen already, thanks very much! I'm a woman! I wear a bra! Second of all, do boys _hear_ themselves being arrogant asses, or is there just some kind of buzzing in their ears as they speak? Third of all, I hate Scorpius Malfoy. Period. "No, it's not," I reply bitterly, "which is good because I'm not talking to the love of my life, I'm talking to the bane of my existence."

He frowns, then grins a bit. "Y'know, I could kiss you right now, if I really wanted to."

It's not that I notice our faces are barely a centimeter apart. I glance around wildly. Luckily, there aren't any passing students to see us; they're all probably still asleep in their dormitories or eating an early breakfast like I'd planned. I break away from him, disgusted. "You're loathsome git!" I shriek at him, and he simply winks at me. I continue shouting insults at him as I storm towards the staircase. "I didn't know a boy could be such a—a—a bloody, arrogant toerag until I met _you_! I'll never tolerate you if I live to be a hundred! Why are you such a—"

Rude as can be, he interrupts my rant. "Rosie, I think you ought to watch out!" He steps toward me and I stomp even faster, seeing such red that my vision blurs. And then..

"_OOF_!"

I feel my head scrap against the sharp end of the staircase and my ankle twist underneath me. My wrist feels numb as it's been squished underneath my weight and against the concrete floor.

Why, oh why, did the Lord choose _today_ to suddenly make me a bumbling klutz? I'm really not uncoordinated! I rarely trip, and I've never so much as bent a finger the wrong way! It's Hugo, really, who's the clumsy one; one day he broke all his ribs playing Quidditch. "Ouch," I mumble. Even through the haze of pain thumping against the side of my head where it'd hit the staircase, I can hear how dazed I sound.

"Rosie? Are you okay?" The jerk sounds concerned, which is something I'd never thought I'd ever hear. I feel his calloused hands against my leg. Suddenly, I realize my skirt's ridden up.

"Er—I'm fine, I just..." I vainly try to reach down and pull my skirt down, but a searing pain shoots from my wrist to my elbow. I howl. It's quite unladylike.

Scorpius' face, which is uncomfortably near mine for the second time, scrunches up with worry. "You must've bent your wrist," he concludes.

"You're a genius," I say sardonically.

He smiles. "At least we know you haven't damaged your brain.. Well, at least not any more than it already is." His eyes survey my body. I squirm nervously; I don't like the feeling of his eyes skimming mine as though he's undressing me. It's like rape, but with your eyes. His fingers reach out to touch my ankle, and I cringe. "Your ankle's turning red, and it's kinda swelling. You twisted it." His eyes return to meet mine. "Crap. Your head's bleeding, too."

I reach up to feel the throbbing in my temple, and when my fingers return I see the sticky blood. "Dammit."

"Only you, Rosie Weasley, could get _this _much body damage from tripping over _one stair_."

"Hey!" I argue weakly. "It was a very hard stair."

He rolls his eyes, and then begins to scoop me up. His hands are much too near my arse, and I scream, squirming out of his hold. He almost drops me back onto the stairs. "What're you doing?" He yells angrily, face flushed as he lowers me to the ground carefully.

"What are _you _doing?" I shout right back at him. "Trying to take advantage of a cripple? Groping me when I'm incapable of resistance? You're a sick man!"

Scorpius stares blankly. "You're psycho!" He declares, throwing his hands up. "I'm _lifting _you, Rosie. What? Do you think you could walk up all those stairs to Pomfrey's? You'll fall again, and probably crack your skull and break both your legs!"

"Oh," I reply, blushing. "Well, couldn't you just, you know, levitate me there or something?"

"If that's what the lady wants..." He pulls his wand out of his back pocket and his lips begin to form the spell, _Levicorpus_.

I realize this is a bad idea and put my hands out in panic. "No, never mind!" I close my eyes and groan. "Lift away, good sir," I blurt. Where do I get these lines, anyway?

He laughs loudly and puts one arm to support my back and his other underneath my leg. He raises an eyebrow and, reluctantly, I put my arms around his neck.

"Wait," I say, and pull out my wand with my good hand. "Episkey." I wince as I feel a burning sensation on my temple. "How is the cut now? I'm kind of rusty on that spell."

Scorpius studies my face, and I feel my cheeks go hot. "It's still a bit open, but the bleeding's stopped."

"Oh. Okay."

He stares for a bit, and then shakes his head and begins the trek up the staircase. Ten stairs later, he's huffing and puffing as though I've made him carry an anvil for thirty miles on his back.

"Be a man, Malfoy!" I urge. "I thought you were on the Quidditch team!"

Scorpius glares at me and continues up the stairs, breathing heavily. "I'm a chaser!" he argues, "Quaffles are ten pounds at the most! You probably weigh a hundred and fifty!"

I stiffen. Weight's not quite a good issue with me. "I could've sworn I weighed a hundred and ten pounds this morning," I whispered weakly. "Sorry for the trouble, Scorpius." I tried to hop out of his arms swiftly, _tried_ being the key word here. My good foot slipped and all of my weight went to my messed-up ankle. I screamed like a banshee.

"Merlin's pants, Weasley!" Scorpius yelped, grabbing my arm to steady me and lifting me by the waist. On instinct, I wrapped my legs around his own waist, and we stumbled against the railing, our bodies pressed flush against each other. Immediately, I felt my arms begin to race. Scorpius' face turned pink and his breathing, which had steadied slightly beforehand, escalated once more. "Jesus," he murmured under his breath. I looked at him nervously. He was doing that… _thing_ again. You know. Have you ever had a puppy look at you adoringly, or have you ever seen the face a good parent takes on when you do something worth being proud of? You know? Like… It kind of looks like… love…

His face tilted toward me. His eyes—a light hazel, probably inherited from his mum—grew bigger. I could count three specks of bright gold in one eye, four dots of chocolate brown in the other. There were faint freckles along his nose; they were so light I'd only just noticed. And then, I realized… "What are you doing?" I said, panicking. "What the _hell_ do you think you're doing?"

"Nothing, nothing," Malfoy replies coolly. "Just… Er—Trying to make sure… your—er—head wasn't still bleeding, you know. Don't want you fainting on me as I carry you up the stairs."

I give him the Evil Eye, scrambling in his arms to get out of his vice grip, but he wouldn't let me out. His _hand_ was on my _arse_. He was practically molesting me! But I guess I've gone crazy because my mouth isn't opening to protest. WHAT'S WRONG WITH ME? "You tried to kiss me!" I accuse coldly. "That's… that's rape, you prick!"

"That's not rape!" Scorpius yells back at me. Let me tell you, it's very difficult to scream at someone who's only inches away from your face. It also gets very tempting to simply bite their nose off.

"Is too rape! You ought to go to Azkaban! I ought to tell Dumbledore! I hope to Hell Filch sees us right now and hangs you by your thumbs!" I wail. I guess I really was going mad.

Scorpius' wide hazel eyes squint evilly. "It's not rape if you like it," he says in an awfully sinister voice. For the umpteenth time today, I'm feeling much too uncomfortable for my own good.

"Look, can we just go up to the Hospital Wing to see Madame Pomfrey?" I sigh. All the yelling's very exhausting, and I can practically _feel_ my ankle swelling underneath me. The bell was probably about to ring, and it'd be much harder—and more embarrassing—if other students are here to see Malfoy, he boy I absolutely detest—be my savior.

"Right," Malfoy agrees, defeated. He takes in a breath and starts the steady trek upstairs again. At least the Hospital Wing was on the third floor. We'd've been doomed if it was not-so-conveniently located on the Astronomy Tower or something.

I feel like a child in Malfoy's arms right now. We've compromised without talking and my chest is against his, my burning cheek lying centimeters from his own cool one. A stray lock of hair hangs directly in front of my eyes. It's blonde, with tiny hints of muddy brown. It smells like grass and Quidditch sweat. I feel like a stalker for smelling his hair. "Malfoy?" I whisper shyly.

"Rosie," he replies. I feel his hot breath against the shell of my ear. I blush.

"Mm… Sorry."

He sighs quietly, and his breath tickles my neck. I let out the slightest moan, and he stiffens. I feel his abs through his shirt. Damn teenage hormones! Damn it all! "It—It's okay," he says with a bit of difficulty. "I'm sorry, too."

"Yeah," I tell him. The room's spinning, and my temple's throbbing again. I guess the pain has got to me because before long, my eyelids are drifting shut ever so slowly… "Malfoy?" I ask again, a little more silent this time.

"Yes?"

"Th—Thanks…"

And then the world goes blank and I fall unconscious.

-;-

_scorpius pov_

She's a stunning girl, really. And I like her. But that's not the only reason. She's smart. She's hilarious. She's loved, and willing to love (just not me). Her hair's as red as the fire the House elves (which are being paid salary now, because of this weird group started back in the olden times called S.P.E.W.) start on cold nights, and her eyes are as ruddy gorgeous as the shiny oak wood dresser my Mum put in my room back home. There's millions more reasons but I'd bore you to death listing them all. Because when you love someone, it's never just one reason. It's all of them.

Rosie shifts in the pearl white hospital bed, and I let the pads of my thumbs smooth across the soft skin of her freckle-spotted cheek. Her lips are parted just a little and I want to kiss her. _Badly_. But when you love someone who despises you, you learn a little bit of self-control.

Her slender fingers clench and she lets out a loud yawn, and before I can run away because she'll surely give me a nice, stinging slap as she wakes up, her almond-shaped liquid-brown eyes pop open and she's staring me in the face. "Oh," she giggles, "Scorpy! I've been looking for you!"

I swallow. I remember that Pomfrey'd slipped something in her Pumpkin Juice, and Rosie had been knocked out cold as soon as she'd drank it. I suppose the thing made you loopy, too. Because I've never been called Scorpy by anyone but my Mum when I was three, and Rosie Weasley never looks for me unless she's plotting my death. "Er—I don't think you're feeling quite right, Rosiekins, so I guess I'm just going to leave… I'll tell your friends where you are…" I tell her hesitantly, backing up slowly.

"Don't leave," she pleads all of a sudden, and, I mean, how are you suppose to say "no" to those light brown eyes? It's damn near as impossible as kissing a Blast-Ended Skrewt and surviving! So, like the idiot I'm quite sure I am, I sit down on the metal chair by her side, nervously looking at her. She's smiling brightly and she's looking pretty, don't get me wrong, but sort of creepy, too. "You know, Scorpy, I've always thought you were cute."

"What the fu—" I catch myself before I swear but I'm still baffled. Rosie Weasley was most _definitely _not in her right mind, because she only says these things in my very best dreams, and very best dreams are not meant to come true. "Are you—Are you okay, Rosie?"

"No, not really," she admits. At least she's not in denial. She cocks her head and looks at me firmly. I squirm in my seat. And then, BAM! She's kissing me! I'm not kidding! She grabs me by the ears and mashes her lips against mine! I turn stiff and for a second I'm pulling away, and then I think—_Scorpius, you idiot, this is probably your first and last chance to kiss the girl you've fancied since first year, so, even if she's made, KISS HER BACK, YOU DOLT! _And so I'm kissing her. And _kissing _her. And _KISSING_ her! We must've snogged for centuries! By the time she breaks away, panting, her hair is mussed and mine's probably sticking up as those I've been shocked, and her lips are swollen and her eyes sparkle gorgeously and I feel like God's just blessed me with the single best moment of my short—and most likely getting shorter—life. And then her eyes turn dark and her smile falls down at the corners and her face, pink with ecstasy, flushes and there's this cold, cold look on her face that makes me feel sick to my stomach—it's regret. "Malfoy…" she whispers, "Shit…"

I close my eyes, because this isn't how I planned it. I was supposed to kiss her passionately and she'd gasp at how much I love her and she'd say yes the next time I ask her out and we'd fall in love and run out into the sunset wonderfully. She wasn't meant to _regret_ anything. "I—I'm sorry," I mumble quickly and run out of there like my life depends on it, because I feel like throwing myself into the Lake with the Giant Squid rather than face her again.

And that's how come, at dinner in the Great Hall, I'm moping in my pudding grumpily, glaring at the other Fifth-Year Ravenclaws, who are playing catch with some poor First-Year's wand. "Hey, the kid did _nothing _to you," I growl at my friends, "Give it back or I'll knock ten points of Ravenclaw." The boys glare at me and hand the wand back to the little kid, who hiccups and runs back to his seat.

"Wha's wrong, mate?" Ocotillo Wood asks me, stuffing his mouth with tarts. "You gonna eat that? Ne'ermind. Anyways, wha's up wit' you? I mean, takin' poin's off your own house—what kind o' git does tha'? Oh, blimey, don' tell me—Weasley prob'ems again, now, is it, mate?"

"Don't wanna talk about it," I grunt foully.

"Now, mate, don' be like tha'… Y'know, some'ay in the near future, she'll be attendin' your weddin' wishin' she was the lucky bride standin' up there in the alta', Scorpius…"

"_Malfoy_!" A familiar, high-pitched voice shakes my attention away from Oc's 'uplifting' speech. Then, I realized Rosie Weasley was coming my way, and she had her 'I'm-an-angry-bitch-who-hates-Scorpius' face on. Shit.

"Hey, Rosie, come to ask me out again?" I was trying to play it cool, I swear! But my face turned scorching and I played it prat, instead.

She rolls her eyes and smiles. Wait, _smiles_? There's something wrong here. "You're a git!" she accuses, glaring at Ocotillo, who immediately scooches over to make room for her. "I can't believe you! I'm going to kill you!"

Crap. Did she find out about what I did to her ex-boyfriend? "Look, I didn't mean to curse him, it just kind of slipped out, I was—"

"What?" She shakes her head, befuddled. "What are you talking about? Never-mind. I meant… How could you just _ditch_ me after what happened in Pomfrey's? That's prick-behavior."

"Rosie, I don't think you quite remember right what happened in there…" I muttered. "If you knew, you would be pretty damn grateful I left."

Rosie smirks. Rosie Weasley smirking is a turn-on, but it also makes you fear for your life. "I believe I know the events that took place in that room," she murmurs softly, and then she's kissing me _again_ and I'm closing my eyes and feeling her long, red hair and not believing my luck because I'm being kissed by the most fantastic girl in Hogwarts for the second time today, and the table's erupting in applause and gasps and, "Finally! It's about time!"s and I think I can die happy now. She pulls away slowly and I'm left gasping for breath desperately. "I think it went something like that?" she says shyly, and smiles.

"Yeah, you got the gist of it," I mumbles back, still amazed at my luck. "Merlin, Rosie." She laughs loudly and grins. "Holy… Wow… M'God…"

"Hopefully you'll think of better adjectives soon," she giggles.

"This may be the best day of m'life," I confessed. "So you're _not_ upset about me swelling Lorcan Scamander's teeth up, then?"

"WHAT DID YOU—_YOU'RE _THE ONE WHO DID THAT TO HIM?"

"_Er… _How about we try that kissing thing again?"

"MALFOY!"


End file.
